


Domino

by heartslob



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Post-Recall, baby's first fic, exploration of how mccree might have changed, i don't know what a plot is yet so let's call this a character study, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 13:46:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14935415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartslob/pseuds/heartslob
Summary: How did Jesse get here? On this shitty, thin mattress in an old Overwatch base, dreading the moment he’d have to open his bedroom door and shrinking away at the concept of facing anything, really. Exactly what had happened that caused him to change so damn much?





	Domino

Jesse McCree had been waking up more tired than ever these past few days. His room was still dark, he normally refused to turn any lights on, so the ache he felt behind his eyes upon waking up was just a byproduct of his annoyance at having to face another day. He shut them tight, reached both hands up to press against them until he started seeing stars, and sighed. He rolled over onto his back, wincing as he lifted the heavy weight of his eyelids and forced himself to stare at his ceiling. He knew he’d have to get up eventually, but knowing he had to didn’t make it any easier. If anything, it made it worse. Why should he have to get up and face a day he’d rather not be a part of all-together? He wasn’t in the mood to socialize. But then again, he wasn’t really in the mood for anything lately, so he supposed he’d lost the right to use that as an excuse. He turned to look at the door to his room, contemplating braving the world for a brief moment, before he scoffed at the idea and turned back. Him, actually being motivated to face the winds of change? What a joke. There used to be a time, when he was much younger and much more spirited, that he could adapt to anything without a second thought, but now the mere thought of anything new being introduced caused his shoulders to stiffen.

 

How did he get here? On this shitty, thin mattress in an old Overwatch base, dreading the moment he’d have to open his bedroom door and shrinking away at the concept of facing anything, really. Exactly what had happened that caused him to change so damn much?

 

His first instinct would be to blame Deadlock seeing as they were the source for a lot of his problems growing up, but that wouldn’t be right. He had always been rambunctious, mischievous, itching for trouble. He was one of the middle sons of a family of 9, so of course he was always trying to find a way to stand out. Any attention was good attention. It didn’t matter if his mother looked at him in disappointment, so long as she was looking.

God. His mother. Jesse hoped from the bottom of his heart that she had forgotten about him long ago.

So no, it wasn’t Deadlock’s fault this time, because Deadlock didn’t create anything in him. All they did was take the energy he had and give it direction. They took his skills with a gun and gave him a target. They didn’t create the criminal behaviours he’d always been destined for, merely fostered it, fulfilling the inevitable prophecy. They were no more to blame than Jesse’s own mother, and he would never even think or feel any sort of resentment towards her, ever. Deadlock was ruled out then, he guessed.

 

What about Blackwatch? Could it have been them that caused this great shift? Going from a ruthless criminal gang to a government peacekeeping organization was pretty jarring, even if he was hired onto the shadier side of it, but Jesse wasn’t convinced that it was Blackwatch that drew this darkness out of him. If anything, Blackwatch was the last positive thing in his life. Sure, he’d been a bit temperamental when he first joined, angry at the ultimatum he was presented and responding by drinking like he was gunning to destroy his liver, which maybe he was. After all, what reason did he have staying upright and functioning? So he could be used as a pawn in a UN organization that only cared about his marksmanship, under the command of a man who wouldn’t have thought twice about throwing him in prison if he didn’t have an exploitable skill? Please. At the first sign of a mistake they’d slot him away for jail time anyway, so he figured he may as well enjoy his last days of freedom by drinking them away and causing nothing but chaos. Of course, it didn’t work out quite like that.

Gabriel Reyes was someone who had been all too patient with Jesse. During those first few weeks he’d manage to wrestle every last bottle away from him and force him to sober up. It was harsh, demanding, Gabriel was not kind about it in any sense of the word but that was exactly what Jesse needed. Too soft would have come across as patronizing, and there’s nothing Jesse hated more than being patronized. He eventually quit drinking all together, at least while he was in Blackwatch, and with Gabriel’s help he managed to find some peace and regain a bit of that lust for life he was sure he had at some point in his childhood. He was secure, he was happy, things felt right. Of course, that wasn’t going to last forever. Nothing good ever truly did for him.

He guessed he always saw the fall coming. There was always a volatile-ness that surrounded Overwatch, always covered up and shoved behind its back with the hopes that it’d just go away if everyone ignored it. The cracks finally started to form with each argument between Overwatch and Blackwatch, running up the sides of the carefully forged armour the organization wore. Jesse needed to get away before it finally split and their biggest weaknesses were exposed. He didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to abandon the few people he’d ever been able to call friends, but watching everything fall apart like this was simply agonizing. He left with few words; a proper goodbye to Reyes who he could tell was trying not to have any sort of outward reaction, and a rather nebulous conversation with Genji where even he couldn’t face the reality of what he was doing, only saying, “I think I need to leave,” as his farewell. He was gone by the next morning. It was the worst and best decision he had ever made.

 

So maybe it was then, his tumultuous time on the road, that finally did him in. Truthfully, it wasn’t so bad at the beginning. His chest felt lighter once the near toxic air that filled the Blackwatch base was gone, like he could breathe for the first time in a while. Funnily, it seemed like he was living in one of those western movies he loved so much as a child. The only thing he had was himself, the clothes on his back, some money, and a gun. It was a classic adventure. So why did it leave such a bad taste in his mouth?

He pegged it on nothing more than a smidge of doubt, one that he buried so deep he let other feelings cover it up. He watched the fall of Overwatch as an outsider, and once the dust had settled it didn’t take much for Jesse to convince himself that he’d never see anyone from Blackwatch ever again. He never truly came to terms with that, but he sure managed to act like he did. He kept his head high and continued on his way. It was just another part of his life he was destined to leave behind.

And so he traveled. He lived off what he could, going to the far reaches of the globe, wherever his heart decided to take him. He stayed on the lookout, never able to completely stay out of other peoples’ business, and tried to help where he could. It gave him purpose, providing aid to those in need and doing small gestures to try and make the world a better place. He only had so much to live off, though, and desperate times called for desperate measures. He considered turning to thievery, but couldn’t get past the idea of robbing from someone who already had nothing and only making their lives worse. Instead he went with the more extreme, yet more controllable option: he put himself up as a gun for hire. He still only took on cases he thought were just: chasing down criminals, abusers, conmen. He was talented, never one to deny his own skills, so once he had done a few small jobs word spread quickly as to who he was and what he could do. It didn’t take too long before he became the wrong kind of famous. On one hand, he had quite the waiting list of jobs and was not struggling for money, but on the other hand, his face was plastered on every paper and news broadcast around the world. Jesse McCree, wanted. A hefty bounty was placed upon his head that only grew with each job he finished. He’d never get caught, that much he knew, but it did make travelling a little bit harder. He managed, though, and thus was his life for the next few years.

Despite his bravado, this job took a bigger toll on him than he thought. He was exposed to so much if the evil that was in the world, all of it being the same evil that he had managed to ignore when it had been directed towards him growing up. He met the same kind of gang members like Deadlock had, the same wealthy criminals he had taken down with Blackwatch, and the same home-grown pieces of shit that reflected some of his family. Every story he got was new and unique but they all hurt. Each one piled up on top of him until it caused a slouch in his shoulders and a dim in his eyes. Mix that with the fact that he didn’t have anyone anymore besides the odd ‘friend’ that served more as a connection than anything else, and you were left with one extremely weary soul. His morals never budged but his morality definitely dropped; after all, being exposed to nothing but the shittiest parts of the world for 37 years would eventually break a man, no matter how strong willed he tried to seem. Somber thoughts made their way into his head and made a home there, and he hadn’t been able to shake them ever since.

 

Still, though, he wasn’t sure he’d put the blame on his time on the road. It was tough, but it wasn’t the events that broke him. Above anything else, he’d blame himself. _He_ chose to run away as a kid, _he_ chose to serve with Blackwatch instead of going to jail, and _he_ chose to take up a job that he knew would be rough. It was the realization that all this was his doing that really got him. A lot of the sadness he had been feeling turned to resentment, for himself and everything he stood for, and though it was the sorrow that brought him down, it was that anger that killed him. When he left Blackwatch, he was known for being so bold, loud, stumbling into obnoxious most of the time. He was charismatic. He was unapologetic. He was someone with spirit. Now he was barely even a ghost of that man, performing tricks for comfort and clinging onto what used to be his personality.

 

It consumed him. 17 year old Jesse would be so disappointed in what 37 year old Jesse was like. A sad sack, laying in bed with no intention of getting up. A grown man with no fight left in him, no passion. Not that adult Jesse cared; what did 17 year old Jesse ever do for him that would warrant him needing to live up to some unrealistic model his child-self had made? He was a different person now, cutting every tie he had with his youth. No amount of disgust or shame would outweigh the hollow that had formed in his chest.

 

For the millionth time, it seemed that his head had gotten the better of him. He groaned, checking his clock just to find out it had only been about 7 minutes since he last looked. If he had had any motivation to get up and face the day before, it was now gone, all thanks those thoughts that had yet to vacate his brain. So instead of trying to fight them, Jesse surrendered himself. He rolled over, back to the door, and decided the world could wait a few more hours of sleep and a glass of whiskey. It would go on without him.

**Author's Note:**

> if y'all are interested this fic has an accompanying playlist (it's just a general sad mccree playlist but deals w/ the themes in this fic). you can find it here, on my spotify: https://spoti.fi/2JJXXfb


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